


I don't believe in Christmas miracles

by Left4Shade-Due (ShadeDuelist)



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas Fluff, M/M, no infection au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:12:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeDuelist/pseuds/Left4Shade-Due
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick Heath gets an invitation to a fancy Christmas party at a hotel he's reviewed for his work for Living Now magazine.  And if there's anything he doesn't like, it's stuffy parties.  So when he meets a waiter that provides a nice change from the stuck-up invitees, he finds himself happily enchanted...</p><p>Ellis Baker fills in for his best friend at his weekend job and gets more than he bargained out of the deal - a chance meeting with an intriguing man that leaves him feeling stunned, confused, and - worst of all - heartbroken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't believe in Christmas miracles

It was instantly clear to Nick what the content of that burgundy envelope was, even without having to open it.

Whether it was the silvery, almost luminescent, hand-written, elegant 'Mr. Nicolas Heath' that gave it away, the stylized stamp, the fact that it was post-marked 'Atlanta GA' or the heavy feel of the envelope, he didn't know – it wasn't important either – but he instantly knew that this was an invitation from the Mariott Hotel.  And judging by the season, it wouldn't be just any invitation.  No, it was late November, so the only kind of invitation anyone would be extending was an invitation to a Christmas Party.  Sure enough, when he opened the envelope, thoughtlessly slicing through the thick and expensive paper, there it was.

“We have the pleasure to... blah, blah... Christmas Party... December twentieth...”, he mumbled, already feeling thoroughly bored.  It wasn't the first time he'd gotten an invitation like the one he now tossed back onto his desk – after all, his job at 'Living Now' magazine was to review restaurants and hotels all over the United States – and it wasn't the first time he'd not even bothered to answer, either.  But unfortunately his boss noticed the gesture and rose from his desk, walking over briskly to Nick's – he suppressed a groan right at the moment his boss was within earshot, instead trying to look as neutral and complacent as possible as he turned to the man.

“I see you've gotten their invitation as well.”, he said, to which Nick nodded, internally grumbling at the man in front of him.  Benny Larousse was a lot of things, but not subtle and certainly not pleasant, and Nick had a solid dislike of every second the man graced him with his presence.  However, his next words made Nick forget all that dislike in an instant in favor of a much harsher, much more acute loathing.  “...Normally we don't attend these events, but in the current economic times we can use all the pr we can get and all the advertisers we can convince, so that means you'll be going to Atlanta, Georgia on... uh... December twentieth!”, he said, squinting to read the date off the invitation.  Nick protested despite himself – it was a reflex, one that he had tried in vain to suppress.

“Benny, that's bullshit!”

“Nicolas, we can't afford to let opportunities like this pass us by, so either you go or you're _gone_.”, his boss retorted, his eyes narrowed dangerously and his nostrils flaring, a dangerous sign if any that he was about to lose his temper.  And Nick, grumbling, conceded with a nod.

When given the choice between enduring another boring evening or another year of having to rely on his few friends and his parents as he was looking for another job, was rhere really any doubt?

 

“Mister Heath, such a pleasure to see you again!”  The woman opposite him, shaking his hand with the air of a trained temptress – and dresses as provocatively as one – smiled broadly and very fakely, prompting Nick to smile back just as broadly and just as fakely.

“Miss Felizi, still looking ravishing.”

“Did you find your way back through Atlanta allright?”, she asked, following up her question with another one before he had even had the chance to breathe in, let alone formulate a response about how the traffic had been reasonable.  “...As you probably still remember, we've renovated early this year – isn't it nice how our lounge is now much more open?”  Nick looked behind her, at the lounge she motioned towards, and he grinned.  The ceilings were much higher than he remembered, and at the center of the lounge there was a water feature that provided a nice counterbalance to the soft piano music issuing from somewhere off to the side.  He had no doubt that the food and drinks would be exquisite, the lounge stunning, and the company so boring he'd probably fall asleep standing.

“Just as beautiful as it'd promised to be.”, he agreed, nodding and longing for a drink so he could wash down the incredible lies he found himself forced to utter.  Maybe the warpaint that the woman had mistaken for makeup would look less awful, even, if he'd had a drink.  Or two, possibly.  Three would certainly make things look up.  “It's a real shame the hotel was already fully booked for the weekend, though-”, he started, intending to use the fact as an excuse for his leaving earlier, but the woman still wouldn't leave him alone: she grabbed his hand again, her bright red nails digging into the back of his hand slightly as she gripped it.

“I find it a shame as well, but no worries, you'll get another opportunity to visit us again next year, surely, mister Heath – the rooms have all been renovated again, outfitted with beds that are even more comfortable, and the restaurant's got a new chef as well...”  Just as Nick meant to interrupt her doubtlessly well-rehearsed sales pitch to tell her that not he but his boss decided which hotels and restaurants he could visit, she smiled even more broadly and promptly released his hand, stepping aside to greet two new guests that she evidently wanted to sell the hotel to even more badly, if her grovelling was any indication, and Nick exhaled in relief when he finally managed to walk away from her, entering the hotel lounge.  However, his relief was short-lived after only five minutes of scanning the attendants and realizing that he knew none of them.  It imprinted on him once again the fact that he was bound to spend the next four hours of an elaborate dinner in utter boredom.

But at least the food was good, he mused, even though he knew that that'd make up for not even the slightest amount of ennui he would be forced to endure.

 

Excusing himself from a discussion about politics – and gathering somewhat envious looks from the other participants – Nick finally cracked between the main course and the dessert, walking into a hallway off to the side claiming he needed to use the restroom but instead resolving to find the first possible back door out of this hell of a Christmas party and then run as fast as he could back to his hotel outside of town.  Exhaling a sigh as he closed the door behind him, blocking out most of the noise of the party, he looked into the hallway, seeing a light issue at the end of it.

“Oh god, please let that be the exit...”, Nick groaned.  To his utter surprise, the next thing he knew, a door opened right beside him, flooding the darkness around him with light, light that framed one of the waiters from the party.

“...Th'exit's on th'other side'a the lounge, sir...”  His accent was thick – but surprisingly enough, though Nick normally minded that kind of thing, he now found it refreshing.  He'd been forced to endure stuffy conversation after stuffy conversation back inside and that had considerably raised his tolerance for having someone speak without any falsitudes.  It took a second for Nick to realise what the man said, perhaps because of the surprise of someone walking into him frantically trying to escape, but then he groaned.

“...Oh god, I have to go back in there?”

“Uh, kind'f, if'n yeh don't wanna climb out 'f a window or nothin'...”  The man then grinned and nudged his head at the closed door – muffled conversations, too muted to understand, issued from it .  “Tha' bad 'f a party, huh?”  Nick looked at the waiter for a second, torn between just walking away and answering: he had never been in a similar situation before, where he'd found himself striking up a conversation with someone that served drinks, but the guy looked amiable and talking to him was more than a little refreshing after all the stuffy, forced conversations he had to endure.  In the end, it was that soft grin of the other guy that had him sigh and nod.

“You can't believe how horrible it is.  The only saving grace is the food and the drinks, but not even a _bucket_ of champagne can make you impervious to four solid hours of being bored out of your mind and into insanity.”  The waiter laughed at that, softly at first but when Nick grinned, his laugh grew to a full, rich, warm laughter that even got Nick chuckling.

“Oh man... ah took this 'ere job t'fill in fer a friend, but when he told me things could get a li'l borin', ah really hadn't figured ah'd be damn near invisible tuh ev'ryone, an' tha' in the middle 'f a party like 'is.  Ah swear there's more life an' joy on a cemetary.  Glad tuh hear ah'm not th'only guy out 'ere thinkin' tha' it sucks.”  A few residual chuckles left him, chuckles that had Nick relaxing just a little bit more.

“You're not used to being a waiter at all, are you?”, he asked, and the guy shook his head, pulling slightly at the neck of his shirt after he did so, showing that he wasn't even used to wearing anything nearly as formal as his current off-white shirt and dark grey dress pants combo.

“Naw, ah'm not... mah day-tuh-day job's real diff'rent from this.  Ah prefer workin' with mah hands tuh this any day – an' ah'm bettin' so's the friend ah'm fillin' in for.  An' yew?”  The guy glanced him  over, something that had Nick extra thankful for choosing his most ostentatious suit, and then the awkward waiter grinned.  “Yew look like th'kind'f man tha' socializes with people like them, wha' makes yeh wanna run 'way?”

“Tell you the truth, I _do_ socialize with people like them every day, but that doesn't mean I _like_ it.  I kind of rolled into this a while back, and even though I'm gettin' used to the parties, I don't think I'm ever going to get used to the... well, the fakeness of it all.  Nobody in there's _real_ , you know?”, he said, prompting the waiter, much to his surprise, to nod and smile.

“B'lieve me, ah know – took me maybe twenty minutes tuh figure tha' out.  Them ladies out 'ere... ah di'n't know where t'look-”, he admitted shyly, and Nick rolled his eyes.

“Makes two of us.  More skin shown than a damn lingerie catalogue.  An' believe me, I've seen a lot of those.”  He winked at the waiter, who blushed just a little before speaking up in reply.

“Yeah, an' the way they's jus' _flirtin'_ with everyone in sight, 's like all they want's tuh go home with one'a them rich ugly fellers – uh, w-well, ah don't mean _yew_ is ugly, 'cause yew are a fine-lookin' guy-”

“Heh, relax, sport, I'm not rich and I doubt any of the women in there don't know that much.  I'm just a... a journalist.”  When the other guy looked at him in surprise, he felt himself obliged to add: “Restaurant and hotel critic.”

“Why, now, that's int'restin'!  So yew get invited tuh all the parties, huh?”

“You make that sound like it's a treat, but it isn't, let me tell ya.  For one thing, you never get invited to anything but stuffy parties and boring plays anymore.  And secondly, there's the fact that nothing's ever _normal_ or _regular_ anymore: suddenly everything has to be larger-than-life.  Always champagne and foie gras, never just beer and a burger.”, Nick admitted with a sigh that – to his own surprise – didn't feel at all forced.  In fact, it relieved a lot of tension that had built in the pit of his stomach.  And the waiter chuckled, motioning beyond the hallway, off in the distance.

“Well, ah can'' get yew a burger... but beer's definitely a possibility, mister!”  Before Nick had any time to realise how absurd it was to walk off into the dark hallways of a hotel with a waiter in search of a beer, the other man was off, his gait easy and the back of his head revealing messy hair, as if he'd worn a hat or a beanie while coming to his job; and before Nick even realized how unlike himself it was what he was doing, he already was following the younger southerner off into the dark recesses of the hotel.

 

In the days that followed, Nick found his thoughts drawn back to the southerner a few times.  They'd had that beer, taken from a fridge in a back room with an aged table and an aged kitchen, and as they'd sat there – Nick not minding his pristine white suit and the waiter having loosened his shirt just a little in order to sit comfortably slouched in the chair – they'd talked about the hotel, about the kind of life Nick lived, the kind of life the guy lived – he'd been especially eager to speak about his best friend – and about the economy and what a shame it was that a guy like Nick had to struggle through a job he didn't know, nevermind the perks of that job.  Nick had said multiple times that he blamed his ex-wives firmly for his less-than-fortunate position in life – and invariably the southerner had answered that he couldn't imagine a man like him alone.

And whenever he remembered that little tidbit, Nick invariably grinned.

“...What're you grinnin' about, man?”, came one of his friends' voice, and he looked up from the article he was revising to see the man standing at his desk, leaning over his screen in order to look at what he was working on, probably because he expected to see the reason for his grin there, and Nick shook his head.

“Not this damn article.  ...Don't you have, you know, _work_ to do?”, he added slightly bitingly – anyone else would mistake his tone for angry or at the very least annoyed, but Nick knew his best friend could endure a lot more.

“Not yet, man, not yet – got a few gigs to go to this weekend...”

“Sucks to be you.”, Nick replied dully, trying to focus back on his work – his next statement, when his colleague continued to interfere with his drive, was aimed to show the conversation's end from his side: “...See you later, okay?”

“Okay, okay... don't forget to eat, okay?”  Nick had already waved away the comment, trying to focus back on the article, re-reading it in his mind.  The city of Atlanta 'was always pleasant to visit, with the people in it as hospitable as could be expected'...  Like the waiter, Nick mused with a soft grin.  He'd very gracefully saved his evening after the stuffy party with something as simple and down-to-earth as a beer and a pleasant conversation.  After a minute or two of embarking in side thoughts, Nick caught himself in the middle of musing whether the southerner had actually been from Atlanta or not.  Once his focus was back to the article, he read on mentally: the city had looked 'splendid in winter, as splendid as it did in the summer sunrise'...

...And it was when he remembered that the waiter had called him 'a fine-looking guy' with no small measure of self-satisfaction that he realized three things.  The first was that the waiter had been flirting with him.  There was no denying that fact, and neither was there any denying that he'd flirted right back.  Neither of the two notions shocked him much – the southerner, though he hadn't had that clichéd appearance about him, hadn't exactly tried to hide his attraction, leaning forward during their conversation and even pulling him in for a hug at the end; and Nick had to admit that he had a type when it came to men, and that the waiter had definitely fallen within that type.

It was the third thought that made him lose his mental footing, causing him to stare hard at the screen of his computer.

He _missed him._

Attraction was one thing.  Feeling his body buzz with excitement at the prospect of maybe going home with someone was one thing.  But missing someone, days after they'd talked?  After only having talked an hour, probably less?  Nick hadn't experienced that since his first marriage – scratch that, Nick had _never_ experienced that.  Casual hookups were his style; dinner-and-dessert was a way of life for him.  Once and never again.  This... this was wrong, he mused, this longing for something he never even wanted before, this... pining like a lovesick schoolgirl...

“...Hey Nick, ya look like you've been kicked in the nuts, man... article that bad?”  Of course it had to be his friend from before, returned for round two.  Nick groaned and shook his head, seeking a way to escape his thoughts – and with his friend so close at hand, that way became obvious.

“Hey, uh, if you've got nothin' better to do than police me, let's just split, okay?  You don't have to watch my every move in here, and I can use a drink.  Or two.”  His friend didn't protest once, but then again, Nick thought as he walked off alongside him after logging off his pc, if he looked half as bad as he suddenly felt, that was hardly astonishing.

 

“...'Ey Ell', what's up, man?”  Keith Dupree didn't often see his best friend overindulge – Ellis was a person of moderation, someone whose only fault was perhaps being too optimistic as he meandered his way through life – but that evening was already the second evening the two of them had gone out for a drink that week, and it looked like it'd also lead to the second morning he'd go to work with a hangover.  “'Is ain't like yew... an' ah'm worried...”

“Ah a-ain't... ah ain't gonna see...”, Ellis said, sighing when he didn't get the words properly formed and returning to silently nursing his bottle of beer.  That silence was also very unlike him, Keith mused.  Normally Ellis was the life of the evening, a hundred-and-one stories about himself and Keith, or himself and Dave, or Keith and Dave, or the shop, or... or anything he could think of, really; but now his lips only moved to allow the beer entry or to silently form words that made no sense.  However, when the background noise subsided somewhat, Keith heard his friend mutter very quietly something... something about only knowing someone was a journalist?  “...Ellis, who d'yew mean?  Who's a journalist?”  Instantly, Ellis looked at him, shock visible in every fiber of his tense being and his eyes large with fear, and he shook his head.

“N-naw, no... there ain't no journalist!  A-ain't no journalist, man!”  He followed up his words with a more quiet and infinitely more saddened: “...No journalist, not 'nymore...”

“...What happened when yeh were fillin' in fer me las' weekend?”, Keith asked, but Ellis, like the times he'd asked the same question before, ignored him completely.  And that baffled Keith more than anything else, that outright refusal to even acknowledge the question.  He hadn't known Ellis was capable of it.

Normally, when Ellis had an issue troubling him, he responded vehemently to any and all mention of the source of that issue – like once, when he'd been thinking of asking Louise Richards to prom, any mention of 'prom' had him blushing violently and saying something like 'who cares 'bout prom anyway?!' before retreating into the same brooding silence he was currently maintaining.  Normally, Keith always managed to wheedle the full story out of Ellis with a careful mixture of pressure, sympathy and alcohol.  However, the current situation was far from normal in every aspect: for one, Ellis was already drunk past his usual limit, and for another, he didn't even blink when Keith mentioned the weekend and his filling in for him at his weekend job.  Keith knew that whatever had happened to make his friend lose his mental balance, it had to have happened then. But what could be so big, so different, to make everything he knew about his best friend useless?

Keith, out of options and out of ideas, motioned for the bartender and sighed when the man walked up to their corner of the bar.

“...Got somethin' that'll burn holes in Ell's memory?”, he asked, against his better judgement, and when the bartender nodded, he spoke the least fortunate words in his life.  “...Make 'er two...”

 

“...Mrs. Baker, ah swear, a-ain't gon' happen no more...”, Keith muttered when the next day, instead of his friend reporting for another day's duty at the garage, his mother turned up, taking him aside for 'a li'l talkin'-tuh' – the woman's frown didn't soften when he stammered his apology, but her glare eased away again, causing Keith to relax just a little more.  “...Ah dunno what ah were thinkin', tuh tell yew the truth...”

“Prob'ly yeh weren't thinkin', Keith Marcus Dupree, tha''s what happened...”, was her snide response – something he figured he had coming, seeing as he'd nearly had to bring his friend up to his room and tuck him in the previous night.  However, when the woman continued, she surprised him so thoroughly he nearly dropped the tools he was holding.  “...ah guess he ain't told yew nothin', neither, huh?”

“Yew know somethin' 'bout what happened tuh him las' weekend?  'Cause ah know then's when it happened.”, he quickly said, prompting the woman to shake her head.

“He hasn't told me nothin', Keith, but yew's righ' about it happenin' durin' the weekend.  He came home this Sunday all happy, but somewhere durin' the day 'is mood jus'... turned black.  He ain't smiled in three days, c'n yew imagine it?”, she said, sighing deeply the next second – Keith followed her example, shaking his head as well now.  Whatever had happened to his friend, it had hit him to his very core, because even his mother was worried – and Ellis not smiling meant that for the first time in his life, Ellis was truly shocked.

“...A-an' he ain't said nothin'?”, he tried, prompting another sigh and a soft shake of Ellis' mother's head.

“Nothin'.  's Like talkin' t'a brick wall.  Ah were hopin' he'd told yew somethin'.”

“Naw.  All ah know 's that there's somethin' 'bout a journalist.  Someone that is, or were, a journalist.  An' that apparently ain't here anymore.”

“...And yew think?”, Ellis' mother asked, shrewdly guessing that Keith had an idea – normally, the fact that his best friend's mother knew him that well unnerved him, but now he couldn't like it enough because it simplified things considerably.

“...Ah think he met someone at tha' party he were at... some s'phisticated woman or somethin'-”  Ellis' mother snorted, rolling her eyes.

“Now Keith, y'ain't gotta spin me no tales, ah know Ellis ain't this hung up over no sophisticated woman.  Ellis always liked down-t'earth girls, so why'd he fall fer some dolled-up airhead in a fancy dress?”

“Yeh never know...”, Keith replied with a hint of sageness in his voice, remembering one of Ellis' stories and paraphrasing freely from it.  “After all, Ell' always tells ev'ryone how 'is dad usually liked girls from the countryside, girls tha' knew how tuh drive pick-up trucks an' harvester combines an' all – but yew's from the city, an' yeh ha'n't even _seen_ a harvester combine 'fore yer husband took y'out tuh tha' fair.”  Ellis' mother had to have fond memories about that time – that, or she remembered that it was one of Ellis' favorite stories as well, because she smiled broadly.

“Well, maybe yew c'n be righ', then, after all.  Maybe he did meet someone at tha' party.  But then why ain't he tellin' us?”  Keith mused on that for a second in silence – and then the answer came to him in a brilliant flash of inspiration.

“'Cause he were a waiter!  ...N-naw, think 'bout it, mrs. Baker – he met some girl at tha' party, where all them fancy-ass guys were, an' he must'a thought he ain't stand a chance...”, he added more quietly when Ellis' mother answered his first exclamation with a very disparaging frown.  However, she didn't protest his statement, and after a while she sighed.

“Aw, Ell's really gone an' thrown 'is heart in the fire this time 'round...”  She then looked at her son's best friend, and spoke quietly.  “...Keith, maybe yew c'n find somethin' tuh cheer 'im up?  Like, invite 'im tuh some concert or somethin'?”

“...Ah dunno if'n there's concerts now, 's kind'f quiet in th'holidays... but ah'll look intuh it, mrs. Baker, awrigh'?”, Keith said, smiling encouragingly at her and getting her to smile back, nodding softly.

“Okay, Keith – an' in th'meantime, no more havin' 'im drink, y'hear?!”  The tone was authorative enough to make the southerner wince – he even took a step back as he nodded, making her voice go back to its amiable tone.  “Good, glad we agree... well, ah gotta go now, see yeh later, Keith!”  As she walked back out of the garage, Keith thought two things.  The first was that he would never ever cross Ellis' ma in his life.  The second was that he'd better make sure he knew a concert he could take Ellis to that weekend.

 

“...Keith, man, seriously?”, Ellis said, suppressing a yawn.  “New York?  A concert'f the Midnight Riders's cool an' all, but in _New York_?  Tha's almost half a day's drive from home!  No wonder we had t'get goin' at four thirty in the mornin'!”, the southerner nearly whined – however, his protest was moot, because they'd already driven four hours of the twelve hour drive they had to go through to get to New York, where the Midnight Riders were having a special concert.  It'd cost Keith an arm and a leg just for the concert tickets alone, but he mused that it'd be an investment worth its money, because already his friend was smiling just a little, even when he muttered a continuation to his previous statement: “...Ah thought yew wanted t'go fer a fishin' trip somewhere.”

“Naw... 'sides, if'n ah would'a taken yew out fer a fishin' trip, why'd ah forget t'say yew had tuh bring yer gear along?  Yeah, yeah, ah know, ah done spoiled yew with 'is Christmas gift, now, ain't ah? “, he said, cutting off  Ellis' protest before his friend got the chance to voice it all.  “Now, jus' wait until yew see where we's stayin'!  Yew is gonna love it!”, he added enthusiastically when Ellis rolled his eyes, noticing how instantly, his friend's smile broadened and became warmer.

“Keith, yeh're spoilin' me rotten, yew are... an' ah ain't got nothin' tuh give yew – well, ah do have somethin' ah was plannin' on givin', but tha' ain't gon' compare t'yer weekend away...”  Ellis' smile turned into a soft grin the next moment while he shook his head.  “A weekend away with yew... y'know, when yeh suggested it, ah thought mah ma was gon' have a heart attack, she always is tellin' me how yew an' me spendin' the weekend somewhere 's a sure recipe fer destruction, but she di'n't even _peep_ when yew told her!”

“Ah told yew a hundred times already, Ell', she's jus' happy t'have yew outta the house fer once!  Mah ma was practically beggin' me tuh make it a week's outin' – y'know, see the New Year in New York an' all – but ah ain't got the money t'do tha' an' yer pa would kick me outta the shop faster'n ah c'n blink fer takin' any day off.”, he rattled off, his eyes fixed on the road but one or two glances at Ellis chanced in between, which told him that his friend was amused by his story, though his smile had faded somewhat.  Deciding to try and wheedle something out of Ellis again despite the risk that doing so would turn the car trip into a very awkward experience, he sighed and motioned for the road.  “...Y'know, 's been ages since we hit the road t'gether, jus' the two'a us... must'a been since 'fore ah met Cheryl...”  Cheryl had been his girlfriend of three years – on-and-off, but he didn't count their periods of separation – that had finally decided she wanted her freedom back a month earlier.  Keith had been upset, and Ellis had dragged him through it saying that she 'weren't good fer yew anyway', along with some general unkind things about the girl.  Unkind, but true, since Keith _had_ caught her cheating a few times and since she _had_ been demanding and pushy.  Now, however, Ellis didn't even seem to notice the mention of her, though he did respond.

“Yeah, 's been too long, huh?”  Keith hummed his approval half-heartedly – he'd hoped that Ellis would show a little insight into his moodiness of the past week – but then his friend surprised him by adding: “...Y'know, ain't all that bad that yew take me t'someplace far off...”

“Oh?  How d'yew mean, Ell'?  Ah mean, sure, yeh've been... pre-occupied a lot lately, yeah, but... 's it that bad, huh?”

“Ah...”  Ellis sighed, shaking his head and looking out the window just as they turned onto the Interstate heading towards New York City.  “It ain't really nothin' ah c'n tell yew, Keith... if it were, ah would tell yew right 'way, yeh know tha'-”

“'Ey, now, Ellis, yew an' me, we're friends.  Yeh c'n tell me anythin'!”  For a second, when Ellis turned to him, Keith could see hope in his eyes; but then, fear returned and Ellis sighed again almost painfully.

“...Ah don't think ah can tell yew 'bout this, okay?  N-not jus' yet.  's Kind of... ah dunno, it jus' seems a li'l wrong an' at the same time it feels... like it's meant t'be like this, like _ah_ 'm meant t'be like this.”  Another sigh followed, this time a little less sad and pained, and Ellis' eyes softened before turning back onto the road.  “...Guess ah'm just gon' need a li'l time tuh figure things out.”

“...Man, must'a been some girl at tha' party...”, Keith muttered, feeling a little dazed – if Ellis was so turned around by a woman that he thought he couldn't tell his best friend about it, if he was so deeply hit that he needed to figure things out, then the woman had to be some kind of celebrity or model, to get a simple man's brains twisted in knots – but when his friend gave him a surprised look, he feigned ignorance, instead pretending to focus on the road once again.

Eight hours later, they'd checked into their hotel – Ellis was, indeed, baffled by Keith's choice, and he had already checked out the mini bar eagerly – they'd eaten a couple of hot dogs near their hotel, and both men were then starting to get excited for the main event.  Keith drove over to the parking lot near the venue, which was not yet packed with the crowd he was expecting, and stopped the engine, motioning for the entrance in the distance.

“Ell', 's gon' be busy as all hell in an hour.  R'member where the car's parked, an' remember where the toilet is in 'ere, 'cause if'n we lose track'a each other...”  His voice trailed off slightly – Ellis picked up the hint after only a second's hesitation.

“Will do.  ...Oh man, ah can't b'lieve we's gon' see the _Midnight Riders_!  At a place like 'is!”

“What, yeh think this's too fancy fer 'em?”, Keith said with a gentle shove followed by a grin as he added: “Y'also thought they'd never get the Peach Pit arena filled up, but they did, r'member?”

“How c'n ah forget, mah eyebrows ain't never been the same.”, Ellis responded with a sigh.  It was then, when Ellis absent-mindedly brushed over his forehead and eyebrows, that Keith saw the contradiction in his face: his best friend grinned broadly as ever and joked on with him about the last Midnight Riders concert they'd been to, which had been a little over two years before, and about the fact that their rock heroes hadn't released any new material between that day and the present day, but his eyes were still sad and hurt.  The thought suddenly occurred to Keith that he could be fighting a losing battle.  So he did what any friend would do.

He tried even harder.

“'Ey, Ell', y'wanna go inside already?  Maybe we c'n catch a glimpse'a the guys, maybe even get an autograph!”

“Aw _man_ , that'd be _awesome_!”, Ellis said, grinning from ear to ear, the sadness in his eyes washed away for a moment by genuine glee, and Keith resolved to keep the moments coming, keep surprising his friend, and keep pushing the sadness over being lovesick away until it'd been pushed back completely.

 

“...I love this job...”  Francis Lowry was feeling the buzz of excitement again that so often came with his job.  As the 'alternative lifestyle' reporter for 'Living Now' magazine, he was sent out to all the rock concerts, raves, gaming events, movie premieres, and generally everything that wasn't either overly cultural, incredibly poppy or downright boring.  And he loved every second of it.  Sure, he felt out of place at the raves, and the movie premieres were still stuffy as all hell, but who else could claim to have their dream job at age thirty-three?

And, he mentally added, who _with a criminal record_ could say that?

He had never made his previous career a secret from the magazine – in fact, he'd spoken freely of it – and they had never once judged him.  Least of all Nick, who was an 'old friend' – because 'previous partner in actual crime' sounded horrible – and who owed his job to a nice little tip Francis had passed him.  Sure, they didn't always get along, but he and Nick were the closest thing they both had to childhood friends: they'd known each other since high school, had gotten into the same gang together, had gotten arrested together, had served their time together – partially, because naturally Nick hadn't been as involved as Francis had been and he'd gotten out a month early on good behavior – they lived in the same apartment building so they all but lived together, and now they worked together.  Nick treated him with a callousness that any outsider interpreted as disdain, but that was just the way the man was, just like Francis always treated Nick with his usual brand of pushy, brutal honesty that any outsider could easily mistake for sarcasm and badly veiled contempt.

Just when he was thinking about Nick, his cellphone vibrated in his pocket, and when Francis flipped it open, it revealed a text from his oldest friend, asking if he wanted to go grab a drink.  They'd done that a lot more than usual the past week, and Francis was baffled about the reason: all he knew was that Nick had been over-the-moon happy on Monday, and then, when he'd been trying to review his article about the renovated Mariott in Atlanta, his mood had turned sour in the blink of an eye, like someone had reached into his head and flipped a switch.  Sighing, Francis typed back a quick 'no, Nick, get a life until tomorrow, we can go grab lunch and wash it down with scotch if ya want to get wasted that badly', feeling somewhat sorry for his friend, who sincerely seemed to want to slowly drown himself in liquor as of late – but then he focused back on the – more pleasant – job at hand.  Digging up his press card from his pocket, he stepped towards the security crew, grinning.

“Francis Lowry.  I scheduled an appointment with the Riders to interview them quickly after their set.”  The burly security man, with even more muscles and tattoos than Francis had and was eagerly showing off, checked his list and then nodded.

“End of the hallway, door to the left.  You can wait in there until they're finished.”  The giant of a man stepped aside and allowed him passage: Francis grinned as he stepped through the hallway, hearing the music from overhead grow louder as he came closer to the stage, evidently.  They were playing 'One Bad Man' – or, he mused a second later when the guitar riff seemed not to fit that song, maybe they were ad-libbing their way through a medley, which would mean it was nearly the end of their set.  Closing his eyes as he leaned against the wall, he tried to tune in to the music a little better.

“Oof!”  Someone crashed into him full force, causing his eyes to fly open again and his hands to fly to the wall for support.  Irritation washed through him like pressurized water, making him bark out.

“Hey, can't you watch out?!”

“S-sorry... 'ey, yew, uh, wouldn't know th'way back up, t-tuh the stage, would yeh?”, the guy asked with a thick southern accent, prompting Francis to roll his eyes.  A hick, of course – that answered his previous, aggravation-fueled question – and judging from the way he seemed to want to look everywhere at once, he didn't have a backstage pass or a press card.  “Aw man, ah swear, ah've got all th'bad luck tuhday...  Firs' ah lose sight'a Ellis, then ah end up underneath the stage... an' now ah'm gon' get thrown out, an' Ell's still inside...”

“Ellis is your friend, I assume?”, Francis asked, raising an eyebrow – the hick nodded, running a hand through his bright ginger hair, looking just about as miserable as a kid about to see his puppy put down, and Francis sighed again, taking pity on the hick.  “...Look-”

“Hey!  Hey, you, what are you doin' back here?!”, came a shout from the door, causing both men to jump – the southerner took a good few steps back as well as the security guard came into the room, the measly lights making his tattooed arms look even more imposing.

“Ah... ah'm...”, the intruder stammered, pulling slightly at his ponytail in frustration and fear – and it was that fear that made Francis take pity on the man.  Just when the security guard meant to speak up, the journalist sighed.

“Yeah, he's with me – rookie kid from the magazine.  They sent him with me, to 'see what jobs a reporter has to do', and he just needed to take a li'l tinkle when I came in.  That's all there is to it, man.”

“How'd he-”, the roadie said, crossing his arms and making the hick pale just a little more, but Francis was not impressed whatsoever and he shrugged, interrupting the man.

“Look, that's _your_ issue.  I asked him myself, but he said something about a door at the back and one of your guys havin' to take a leak as well... look, if ya really want him gone, he'll go, but he's supposed to stick with me and learn the job.”  For a few seconds, the security guard seemed to contemplate sending him out, but then he shrugged and motioned for the door.

“Okay, the kid can stay with you – but if he so much as _peeps_ while you're interviewin' the gang, you're _both_ flyin' outta here.”  He then backed out of the room again, allowing Francis to turn to the man he'd just rescued.

“...Look, uh...”  At the point when he realized he didn't even know the guy's name, he blinked – he hadn't actually saved the bacon of a guy whose name he didn't even know, had he? – but the hick was quick to supply it to him.

“Keith, mah name's Keith.”

“Look, Keith, ya heard the guy – not a sound outta you, and stick with me, okay?  Once I've done my job, I'll get you back outside, to your friend, but right now I still have a job to do.”

“Yeh're interviewin' someone, righ'?”, Keith said, smiling.

“Yeah, I'm interviewin' the Riders-”

“No way!”, the southerner squeaked, though when Francis cast him a quick scathing glance, he bit his lip and nodded, signifying he'd be quiet.  Sighing once more when he realized it'd be a long evening yet, which wouldn't be made any easier by the guy he just happened to have to pity and save, Francis sank back in a chair.

“...Look, let's just... do this interview, and then get you back to your friend, and _then_ I can grab a drink, because god damn it, my nerves are _not_ up to this.  At all.”  Keith nodded, looking around in the room as music erupted again over their heads – his shame for having to rely on Francis' mercy easy to see – and then he softly spoke up again.

“...So, uh, mister...”

“Francis, man.  Call me Francis.”, he replied instantly, drawing a flash of a smile from the hick before he continued.

“...So, Francis, yew know much 'bout the Midnight Riders?”  Francis shrugged, looking at the ceiling as he answered.

“Know _of_ 'em, and I looked up enough for the interview – it's kinda hard to keep up with every band out there.  They're not my usual fare, I like the, uh, _louder_ bands-”

“Y'mean, like, death metal an' all tha'?”, Keith asked, shaking his head softly.  “...Yeah, kind'f noticed yer tattoos – tha's a real nice 'Demoness' one yeh have.  Ah know 'em.  Have a couple'a their albums, seen 'em play once – _loved_ their drummer, she's purdy like yeh can'' b'lieve...”  Keith's voice trailed off, allowing Francis to muse how the knowledge that the hick liked the busty female drummer didn't surprise him at all – but then, the southerner did surprise him with his following statement.  “...But if'n ah'm allowed, ah c'n help yew with th'interview'a the Midnigh' Riders a li'l!  Y'know, uh, give yew a li'l fan insight an' all...”

“You think you can help?”, Francis said, sounding as baffled as he felt – and Keith's enthusiasm didn't really make him feel any more secure of himself.  But then, when the southerner smiled and spoke on, he had to admit that he made an excellent point.

“Well, yeah, 'course ah can!  Yeh gotta write an article that's gon' make people that don't know 'em interested in 'em, an' that's gon' make people that know 'em already read through th'entire article, righ'?  ...Well, then, yeh gotta ask 'em a couple'a questions 'bout the show in gen'ral, an' then some questions tha' fans – like me, an' like Ell' – are gon' love tuh see answered!”  He paused, seemingly listening to the concert still going on above them – the sudden loudness of the crowd told Francis that the Riders had just taken their final bow and were getting ready to come down, but whereas he felt the nervous excitement that he always got right before he entered the dressing room of yet another celebrity for a post-performance interview, Keith seemed relaxed.  “...No worries, they's gon' play an encore, they always do...  So, y'wanna know a li'l somethin' 'bout the guys yew's about t'interview?”, he asked – Francis meant to shake his head no, and to tell the hick that there wasn't any time for that when suddenly, overhead, music rang out again.  “...See?  Jus' like ah told yew – they ain't never gon' leave their fans without no second final song!  ...So, yew int'rested in learnin' a li'l more 'bout the Riders?”, he asked again, and Francis, too swept away by Keith's eagerness and his solid knowledge of the band he clearly idolized, nodded.

 

“...Hehe, man, that was _awesome_ , Keith!  Those questions ya asked me to ask are gonna make for a sweet article!”, Francis had to admit an hour later, as he walked around the concert venue to the front parking lot, where the hick had parked his car.  “...Okay, so the concert's done, and I'm assuming that your friend's worried to death about you...”

“Yeah, ah hope so – ah'm worried halfway past life 'bout 'im, anyways...”, Keith admitted, his grin faltering for a second as he looked around, trying to spot his car.  Then, when he found it, he nodded his head towards it, his smile back firmly in place.  “Heh, Ell's prob'ly waitin' by the car awready, why'm ah so worried?”

“Heh, well, I know a sure-fire way to get rid of those worries.  You an' your friend wanna grab a drink to end the evening in style?”  Keith's grin was answer enough, and he could only assume that the guy's friend would be equally eager.  From what Keith had told him already, they'd driven all the way from Georgia to New York for this one concert, as a holiday surprise.  “Oh well, let's ask him ourselves, huh?”, Francis added when they drew close to the car, which turned out to be a battered-looking dark red pick-up truck.

However, much to Francis' surprise and Keith's utter shock, the car stood abandoned.  No sign of the other southerner.

“...Looks like your friend went off on his own.”, Francis mused, grinning – however, Keith's reaction wasn't what he'd expected.  The way Keith had been talking, he'd assumed he had been joking when he said he was worried about his friend, or that he'd been exaggerating – in the next second, his panic showed just how true he'd been.

“Oh gawd!  Oh gawd, oh gawd... w-where's he at?!  The hell's he thinkin', leavin' me standin' on mah own?!  If'n ah get mah hands on 'im-”

“Whooooaaaa, easy there, McMurderous...”, Francis said, surprised by the sheer fear in the Georgian's voice.  “He's probably just inside still, takin' a leak...”

“Well, _hell,_ ah sure hope so!  ...W-well, uh, Francis, y'see, there were a reason fer mah 'holiday surprise', the comin' over here...  Ell's kind'f... lovesick.”

“Lovesick?  That bad, huh?”, Francis said, smiling softly.

“Yeah, he's got it real bad.  Came home las' weekend all sad – y'see, ah have 'is weekend job waitin' an' shit at parties, an' he filled in fer me at some fancy somethin'-or-other – an' he ain't talkin' much 'bout it.  All ah know is tha' he met someone back there, an' tha' he's all confused an' shit.  He thinks he can't tell me, an' he said it feels wrong, so ah 'sume he fell fer a real s'phisticated lady, what he normally don't do 'cause he finds 'em stuck-up an' all-”  Keith rattled on a little about how he took Ellis out a couple of times, but the only thing that his friend seemed to want was get drunk and forget his hurt.  And it was that last part that suddenly made Francis think of Nick.

His own friend had a similar affliction: suddenly gloomy after the weekend and the party he'd attended, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get drunk, preferably nightly, and often looking at nothing with that look of longing.  He sighed.

“Hey, Keith, man, I feel your pain, I really do.  I've got a friend that's got the exact same thing – well, I can only assume, because he came home from a party last weekend and he was maybe happy for two minutes before he turned all broodin'.  And now he drinks scotch like it's water and he just wallows in misery.”

“Heh, bet if'n he met Ellis, they'd become friends fer life – share their sorrows'n all tha' shit-”

“If there's drinks involved, I'll bet you can get Nick to share anything with anyone.”, Francis commented drily before blinking and looking at Keith in surprise.  “...Hang on, that's not a half-bad idea.  I mean, think about it – if they see someone else actin' like a lovesick li'l sap, maybe they finally get it into thir heads that they shouldn't act like that, huh?”

“...Yeah... yeah, maybe...”, Keith said softly before grinning and adding: “An' maybe they c'n jus' _relate_ , y'know?  Talk t'each other, air out a li'l.”

“Nick and 'airin' out'?  Wishful damn thinkin'... but you're right, it's worth a shot.  ...Uh... tomorrow?”, he asked, checking his watch.  “Nick's probably fast asleep already – and if he isn't, then he's in no fit state to drive, I'm sure of it.”

“...U-uh, well, normally we're s'posed tuh head back t'morrow... ah ain't booked the hotel fer _two_ nights an' we kind'f got work on Monday, so...”, Keith stammered softly.  But then, just when Francis had been about to speak up and say that they didn't _have to_ have that drink, Keith's cell phone rang in the dead quiet, and the hick answered.  “Ell'?  'S tha' yew?!  Aw gawd, Ellis, ah were worried sick-  yeah, ah know-  _Ah know_ , Ell', ah can'' help it none either, y'know tha'!  Ah got lost!  'Ey, but 's awrigh', ah ended up backstage an'-  'Ey, would yew lemme-  'Ello?  Hello?!  ...Gawd-damn-it, he _hung up on me_ , th'idjit!”  He glared at his cellphone and turned back to Francis, a vehemence in his voice.  “He's inside, he were waitin' fer me at th'toilets, an' he's pissed off.  Y'know wha'?  _Fuck it_ , we's gon' have tha' drink with yew t'morrow.  But 'round noon, awrigh'?  We still have t'git back tuh Savannah in time fer work, or our boss 's gon' kill us.”

“Deal, man – what hotel are ya stayin' at?”, Francis asked, grinning, and Keith smiled back somewhat, his voice softening.

“Grand Hotel City Central – 's not tha' far from 'ere.”

“Tell ya what, I know a few good places for lunch 'round there.  Good beer, good sloppy Joes-”

“An' let's hope good comp'ny as well, huh?”, Keith said, with another toxic glare at his cellphone, and Francis sighed, remembering how Nick had sent him a text earlier asking him if he wanted to go for a drink, which was as sure a sign as any that he'd ended the evening wasted and miserable.

“...Yeah, let's hope the company's good too...”

 

“...Why this place?”, Nick asked Francis the next afternoon when they stepped off Francis'  motorcycle.  His friend had insisted, much against his usual nature, that he'd dress 'nicely' – which, considering the clothes he'd worn the previous day, wasn't that much of a superfluous statement – and had then told him, even more uncharacteristically, to 'hop on', tossing him his spare helmet.  The only ones that rode on Francis' bike, apart from Francis, were his girlfriend Rochelle and his younger brother Mike.  “...Francis, what's with the secrecy?  Why this place?”, he asked again – still no answer.  “Come on, there's gotta be about a hundred places better than this one all across the city, why here, huh?”

“Because I'm tellin' ya here's where we'll eat lunch, Nick, now would ya please shut up?”, Francis finally answered, exasperation heavy in his voice.  “Jeez, when I said 'lighten up', I didn't mean 'start questionin' every move I make'...”, he added, and Nick snorted.

“Yeah, well, when I said 'lunch is okay', _I_ didn't mean 'take me halfway across town for beer just because you feel like it'.”, he retorted, causing his friend to chuckle softly before turning his way again.

“If ya gotta know, I saved a guy from gettin' tossed out at the concert I went to yesterday, and I wanted to grab a drink with him and his friend – you know, victory drink for havin' dodged a serious bullet – but the other guy turned out to still be inside.  So I asked if they wanted to lunch today and they said yeah, but only if it was near their hotel 'cause they have a crap-ton of miles to go 'fore they're home again.”

“Pff, where are they from, Houston?”, Nick said derisively, and Francis rolled his eyes.

“I said 'a crap-ton of miles', not 'halfway around the world and back'.  No, they're from S          avannah.”

“...Huh, where's that?”, Nick said, blinking.  That sounded somehow familiar.

“What, were you stoned in _geography_ class too, Nick?  Heh, it fuckin' figures... you nearly got kicked out for sittin' like a zombie in trig and Eglish, so why not some boring-ass subject like geometry?  ...Seriously, Savannah's in Georgia, ya dumbshit – even _I_ knew that one.”  Nick meant to answer when he felt a slight itch in his brain, like some detail that was battling to get to the forefront of his mind.

“Hm, I was in Georgia last weekend.  That Mariott party, remember?  That was in Atlanta, though.  Savannah's not near there, right?”

“Jeez, you definitely need less alcohol, Nick – Atlanta's inland, Savannah's at the ocean.  Or at the _Gulf_ , what-the-hell-ever.  ...Dumbshit...”  The latter part was whispered, or rather mumbled, but Nick caught it and gritted his teeth.

“Who're you calling a 'dumbshit'?  You don't even know the magazine's address!  You can't even drive from your place to mine without first lookin' up the route on a map!  I'm not takin' geography lessons from the guy that needs a GPS implanted in his goddamn _brain_.”  He looked the diner over again and sighed.  “...Let's just get inside, have lunch, and then get back.  I'll meet those hicks of yours-”

“They're not hicks just because they're from the south, ya ass!”, Francis said, glaring at him and causing Nick to back down and keep quiet as they stepped inside the diner.  He had to admit it looked nice enough, what with the lavish Christmas decorations and the soft, almost inaudible obligatory Christmas music playing in the background.  As soon as they sat down, an older lady came from behind the counter with a wet dishrag to wipe the table clean and take their order – when they ordered coffee, she wiped the table clear and headed back, returning a minute later with two cups and a pot of steaming hot coffee, pointing out that milk and sugar stood on the table.  Once she'd gone again, Nick looked to his friend, saying without speaking that the hicks were late.  “For the last time, ya dick, they're not hicks just 'cause they're from-  Oh, that's gotta be them.”, Francis said in the middle of his retort, pointing at a dark red pick-up truck that had pulled up across the street.  Nick followed his gaze, rolling his eyes as he saw the red-headed guy in easy jeans get out, and then...

His heart rolled over inside his chest, and he blinked, taking a second look, believing the fake snow around the edges of the window had addled his perception somewhat.  But his second glance outside revealed the same thing.  _There was no way_.

 

“...Why d'we gotta have lunch in New York?  Ah thought yew said yesterday-”, Ellis said – he knew he was probably whining like a spoilt little kid, but couldn't bring himself to care – as they walked towards the diner, causing Keith to pause where he stood.

“Look, Ell', ah told yew, 's only nice.  This guy saved me yesterday – ah would'a gotten thrown out if'n he didn't tell tha' security guard ah were with 'im.  's Only nice t'get lunch with 'im an' tuh pay fer him.  'Sides, he wanted t'meet'chu, too.”

“Yeah, tha''s 'nother thing ah don't like 'bout all'a this... what'd yew _tell_ tha' guy?”  His words were followed by an exasperated sigh and an equally annoyed answer from his friend.

“Ah told 'im yew were bein' a damn fool, tha''s what, an' he said he's got a friend tha' has th'exact same issues as yew do – pinin' fer someone yew met at some damn party...”

“Keith, y'ain't told some guy yew don't even know tha'!”, Ellis said, shaking his head vehemently, unable to believe that Keith could betray the implicit trust that was part and parcel of their friendship so badly.

“So what if'n ah did, Ell', it ain't like 's some big secret, ain't it?  Yew let ev'ryone know that yew's purdy much hopeless an' in love jus' by th'way yew look at everyone.  C'mon, Ellis, y'ain't mad at me fer ventin' to this guy, he weren't just some random person ah talked to, he was real friendly!”

“Y'ain't know the guy!”, Ellis all but shouted, crossing his arms – when even he felt like a pouting child, he uncrossed them again.  “Yew don'' know the guy!”, he said a little more quietly the next second as they found a good spot to cross the street.  “'Sides, ah am not 'hopeless in love', ah jus' prob'ly _think_ ah fell fer the wrong person-”

“Yeah, well, Ell', 's soon as yew get yer head outta yer ass, ah'm gon' start list'nin' tuh yeh 'gain.  Really, man, y'ain't foolin' no one – ' _ah think ah fell fer someone but it ain't true_ ', when d'y'ever _mistake_ about _fallin' in love?_ ”  Keith's tone made Ellis itch to reply: that it had to be a mistake, that it couldn't be right, because he'd fallen for another man – but he bit back his snide answer and instead sighed deeply.  The worst thing of all wasn't that he couldn't speak out against his friend, even: the worst thing, the very worst thing, was that _Keith was right_.  When did anyone ever not know for sure they'd fallen in love?  “...'Ey, c'mon now...”  Keith spoke up softly, soothingly – only then did Ellis notice they'd crossed the street, a fact that surprised him.  “...'Ey, Ellis, yew know ah don't ever wan' upset yew.  Yeh're mah friend, an' ah wanna stand by yer side, but yeh're jus'... makin' it real hard t'do tha' when yeh're all gloomy an' 'ah can'' tell yew 'bout it...'  Ah get that it feels like yeh're th'only one in the world tha' understands how much it hurts t'fall fer someone y'ain't never gonna see 'gain, but 's tha' mean yew can'' meet new friends, have a nice talk?  Now, yeh think yeh c'n enjoy this lunch?  's jus' beer an' sloppy joes, but...”  Ellis' heart gave a painful squeeze, because the mention of beer had instantly invoked the mysterious man's mention of beer and burgers the previous weekend.  However, a second later he'd pushed that pain away as good as he could and he nodded.

“...yeh're righ'... let's jus'... have a drink, have a bite t'eat, talk tuh this mystery savior'a yers-”  He halted the next second, because as they walked inside, his eye fell on the two men in the seats next to the window at the far end.  Or, more specifically, on one of the men.

_No damn way._

“...Holy shit.  _Holy shit._ ”, Nick whispered, causing Francis to blink.  His friend sounded genuinely upset – and he looked even worse than he sounded, pale and wide-eyed.

“ _T-this ain't happenin'..._ ”, Ellis muttered, too softly for Keith to even notice.

And slowly, the two walked towards each other, smiling.

“...Uh, Nick?”, Francis said.  Why was Nick going towards Keith's friend?  He couldn't know the guy – they were way away from home, and Keith had told him the previous evening that this was the first time they'd gone anywhere as far-off as New York.  Keith walked to him, oblivious to the fact that Ellis lagged behind.

“...'Ey Francis, how's it goin'?”, the red-haired hick said with a broad grin – Francis only answered it absent-mindedly, trying to keep an eye on his friend, who was now exchanging some quiet, rapid words with Keith's friend Ellis.  “...Francis, yew awrigh'?”, Keith asked, causing Francis to blink.

“I'm okay... hey, uh, your friend... Ellis... you said this is the first time you an' him went further than just across the state borders, right?  But, uh, did he maybe go on a trip by himself or with someone else before?”

“Heh, ah'm purdy sure he ain't gone nowhere without me – Ell' an' me, we's like bread an' butter, never one without th'other!  But why d'yew ask?”  At the exact moment Francis meant to reply, he caught sight of his friend again, who had his arms wrapped around the second southerner and was very enthusiastically kissing him.  And being very enthusiastically kissed back, too, by the sight of it: Ellis' arms were wrapped around Nick so tightly that it looked painful.

“...uh, because he's _kind of eating Nick's face off_ by the looks of it, and as far as I know Nick likes to have dinner before... well, before.”  Now, finally, Keith seemed to realise that his friend wasn't behind him anymore, and he turned around with an expression of confusion that rapidly turned to shock when he saw the way his friend was doing his best to get as much of the other guy as close to him as possible.

“'Ey!  'Ey now, what's th'idea?!  Ellis, what d'yeh think yeh're doin'?!”  Keith's words went unheard, apparently – or maybe Ellis heard them but chose to give his full attention to Nick, with whom he was still in a tight embrace – but the redhead didn't give up easily: taking three steps until he stood next to his friend, he roughly grabbed one of Ellis' shoulders and shook him, and by extension Nick.  “ _'EY!!_   Yew two mind lettin' go and tellin' me what th'hell's goin' on 'fore ah punch one'a yew?!”

“Keith, y'mind?!”, Ellis said, but Nick's voice sounded – a little more breathless than usual, Francis noticed, which was in itself telling of the intensity with which his friend had gotten into the entire 'kissing like nobody's watching' thing – and the two southerners turned to him.

“...I met Ellis last weekend, at a Christmas party in Atlanta, at the Mariott.  It was a stuffy party but when I decided to make a break for freedom, I ran into him and we talked.  And I fell for him like a ton of goddamn bricks.”

“Y-yeah, same 'ere – y'understand now why ah ain't told yew wha' happened, Keith?  H-how could ah tell yew 'ah met this _guy_ an' ah fell fer 'im'?”

“Uh, like yew jus' did?”, Keith said, and Francis blinked, taking a second to find the oddity in his friend's words.

“Wait a minute... you fell for him?  Nick Heath, _in love_?”

“In love with a hick, no less.  ...God, I only saw it when I got back and I couldn't get him out of my mind-”  Ellis gave Nick another squeeze and a kiss, this time a lot more soft and short, and Nick grinned as he continued: “...So, yeah, when I realised I'd never again see the first guy I'd ever actually fallen in love with in fifteen years...”

“...An' when ah realised tha' not only had ah fallen fer a guy, but fer a guy ah'd never even get t'meet anymore...”, Ellis supplied as well, and Francis and Keith looked at each other.  They had never in a million years thought of the similarities between their friends' stories being caused by it being _the same story_.  It was a lot to stomach, and the fact that Ellis and Nick didn't let one another go wasn't making it any easier for Francis or for Keith to come to terms with it.

“...Aw hell...”, Keith said, shaking his head and staggering to a chair, sagging into it – by coincidence, he ended up in Nick's chair, downing his coffee and wincing at the bitter taste.  Francis couldn't really blame his newfound friend for that gesture: he felt just a little sideswiped as well.  The coffee seemed to inspire the southerner to speak up again, however.  “...Ellis, 's horrible how yew think ah were gonna judge yew fer... well, fer _this_...”, he said emphatically, gesturing to his friend and Nick – it was basically impossible to disentangle them by then, it seemed, no matter the looks they were now getting.

“...Yew's always goin' on 'bout how two guys livin' t'gether's weird, an' how two guys – or two girls – that are in love an' showin' it outright ain't proper, Keith, yew tell me how ah were s'posed tuh not think yeh were gon' judge me...”, Ellis reacted, causing Keith to blush and look at the floor.

“This's diff'rent!  Yew ain't... yew ain't...”  He couldn't actually voice what Ellis was not, though, and finally, Nick sighed.

“Look, Keith, it seems to me that you either didn't mean those things that way, or that you've got a little bit of trouble seein' your best friend as one of those 'improper' guys that openly show they're in love with another man.  Either way, all you've got to say is this: are you happy for Ellis, yes or no?”

“'Course ah am!  Ell's like mah brother – we nearly _is_ brothers, we was born on th'same day, in th'same hospital...  ...huh...”  He looked at Nick, blinking a few times and then nodding.  “...Yeh're righ'.  Ell', ah'm happy fer yew, an' ah'm happy fer Nick 's well, ah guess – ah'll be wantin' a good few words with yew, though, if'n yeh 'spect tuh take Ellis out.  His pa ain't here no more, so ah gotta be th'one checkin' his... well, his boyfriend, ah guess?”  Again, the hick blushed, and Nick turned to Francis, who looked at him with eyes filled with confusion and even slight hurt.

“...You expectin' me to have anything to say?”, the other journalist said, and Nick shrugged – but instead of not speaking up again, Francis suddenly ground out a follow-up: “So you fallin' for this guy from across a party just like that, that's nothin' remarkable, huh?  Man, Nick, ya called 'em 'hicks' a minute ago!”

“I was in a foul mood, in case you hadn't noticed, because the guy that finally got into my heart got out of my life as far as I knew!”, Nick answered vehemently, but his voice softened considerably after a soft squeeze from Ellis.  “...Anyway, he's here now.”

“Yeah, an' he has t' _go back home_ in an hour, we've got a long way t'go.”, Keith said, causing Ellis to sigh.

“Y-yeah, Keith ain't kiddin'.  If'n we ain't at work t'morrow, our boss 's gon' kill us.”  Giving Nick another soft kiss, this time on the cheek, he added a soft, almost inaudible 'much as ah like t'stay'.

“I understand, Ellis.  ...You got anything to do for the New Year, though?”, he asked tentatively, and Ellis chuckled.

“Ah do now... but how 'm ah gettin' here?”  Keith groaned pre-emptively, and Francis gave Nick a look of wonder, but Nick smiled.

“...Leave the details to me, okay?”

A deep sigh left Ellis as Keith turned into their street.  He couldn't believe his luck.  First he'd med Nick – 'what a fine name fer a fine man...', he mused – by pure luck at the party; then, again by pure luck, they'd met again in New York.  The lunch they'd shared had been too short, the hugs and the kisses they'd given each other both as they met again and as they parted once more too few, the meaningful glances too laden.  He itched for the man, itched to properly be able to appreciate the fact that they'd fallen for each other.

That he still couldn't believe: the fact that a man so sophisticated-looking as Nick, a man that lived a life of such excitement and glamour, could fall for someone as plain and even boring as him – even if Nick had told him himself that the excitement grew dull after a while and the glamour ran no deeper than the surface.

“...'re yew thinkin' 'f him _again_ , Ell'?”, Keith said with the slightest hint of disbelief, and Ellis looked at his friend.

“Keith, if'n yeh're tryin' tuh be cute, y'ain't really gon' be.  'Course ah'm thinkin' of Nick, what d'yew expect, man?”  Truth be told, he knew what his friend expected, but he wasn't about to humor him.  Some of Keith's remarks had been nothing short of insulting – like when he asked Ellis how he expected to have a relationship with a man that lived half a day's travel away, or how he expected his family to support him when his mother was constantly going on about how Ellis was her only hope for grandchildren.  Then again, he admitted the next second, Keith probably needed time to ease into the notion that he, his best friend, was involved with a guy.  “...Look, Keith, c'n ah be honest?  ...Ah 'spected more from yew.  Ah ain't expectin' no applause fer lovin' Nick, sure, but _gawd help me_ , if'n yeh make one more comment 'bout it bein' purdy damn much hopeless 'tween me an' him-”

“Ellis, ah jus' don't wanna see yeh heartbroken like yeh were all las' week!”, Keith said, sounding a little ashamed but equally enraged, and Ellis crossed his arms as he looked at his best friend scathingly.

“Well, y'ain't makin' me feel lots better 'n ah felt las' week right now, Keith, so ah dunno what yeh're tryin' t'achieve here.”  That effectively made the redheaded southerner shut up, much to Ellis' relief.  He didn't think he could stomach any more painful moments between him and his friend.  After ten seconds, however, the silence became one of those painful moments.

“Keith-”

“...Ell', s'yer mom 'spect a visitor?”, Keith said, causing Ellis to look ahead again, seeing a car he didn't recognize parked in front of his home.  In the light of the Christmas decoration in the front lawn, he could see that it was a dark blue car, a European car no less.  Those were expensive, but that only made the most likely candidates to visit his mother less of an option.

“Naw... don't look like mah uncle James' car none... or like a taxi, neither,.so it ain't mah gramma... yer parents would'a walked over 'ere...”

“C'mon, let's go see who it is, awrigh'?”, Keith said apprehensively, stopping his car in front of the driveway and getting out, not bothering to take his stuff out of his truck yet, though Ellis did.  The situation didn't feel off to him.  After stepping across the lawn to get to the front door quicker, Ellis unlocked his house and stepped inside, calling out the second he was in there.

“Mom?  Mom, ah'm home!”

“Ellis, good yeh're here!”, she said, coming into the hallway looking somewhat distraught.  “...Y-yew got a visitor, an' the things he's sayin'...”

“What's he sayin', mrs. Baker?”, Keith asked, and Ellis' mother bit her lip.

“Tha' mah Ellis is... tha' he's...”  She evidently couldn't speak what exactly Ellis was, and Keith paled, because it was obvious what the message was.  Ellis paled too; however, he had been mustering up the courage and the words to tell his mother all that had happened all through the car ride home.  He had figured he could tell her that evening, calmly, taking care not to stress her – but now, evidently, she was distraught and there was no chance of not stressing her.

“Mom, if'n he's sayin' ah've got a boyfriend, he ain't lyin'.  Ah wanted t'tell yew mahself, but-”

“Ellis, h-he said he is yer boyfriend.”, his mother stammered, and Ellis' eyes widened.  However, before going to check it out, he first made sure that he talked this through fully with her first.

“...Ah c'n understand if'n yew want t'have some time, momma, this ain't nothin' easy fer yew t'hear, awkay?  But all ah c'n tell yew is tha' ah feel great.  Ah'm happy.  Ah met 'im fillin' in fer Keith las' weekend an' ah thought ah weren't gon' see him again, but ah ran intuh him by sheer luck this weekend again, an'... an' ah ain't gonna let 'im go.  Ah c'n understand yew wantin' t'have some time t'yerself tuh... ah dunno, tuh cry 'bout me?”

“Oh Ell', dahlin'...”, his mother sighed, pulling him in for a hug that he gladly gave her, speaking softly as he did.

“Ah'm still yer li'l Ellis.  Ah've jus'... not fallen in love with a lady but with a guy.  Ain't that big 'f a deal t'me...”  She sniffled and squeezed him a little tighter before nodding her head to the living room.

“Yew go in there now – way he said it, yew both ain't liked yer goodbyes none.  Ah... Keith'll take me to the kitchen, ah c'n use a nice drink-”

“Yew an' me both, mrs. Baker – i-if'n ah'm allowed, tha' is...”  Keith gave Ellis a look that said 'look what you got yourself into' before taking his friend's mother into her kitchen, but the mechanic was past caring about that, because when he opened the door, Nick sat there, looking tired but smiling broadly the instant their eyes met.

“Told you to leave the details to me.”, he said, winking at Ellis.

It didn't take even a split second for Ellis to dash across the room and virtually tackle Nick into a tight, satisfied hug.

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for the amazing people that are my friends - Kalai (horsey), Misha (unhingedhick), Ariel (mintsharpie), Alex (alexkingofthedamned) - for the amazing people that read my stories (I'm lookin' at YOU), and for the absolutely exquisite people that happen upon this story and decide to stick around for more.
> 
> A very Merry Christmas and a happy 2014 to you all!


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